#22 On Way to Her School

It was a premature morning. The sun was rising behind the hills. The cock was awoke and prepared itself cry out its alarm. The birds chirped about the sky, the women waddled about the house and the milkman serviced about the streets. Kalu, son of baniya who ran a grocery store, came out from his house and hurried off in the direction of maidaan to play cricket. All through his way, he practiced cricket while throwing imaginary balls in the air.

            ‘Are you going to the central library?’ said Julee, pulling my hem of the shirt.

            ‘Yes! Don’t you want me to go?’ I asked bending a little towards her.

            Julee brushed her nose with the black tie she wore over a blue school uniform. She was a bespectacled, little, fat girl and lived in an old house behind the maidaan with her family. Her school was about two kilometers apart from her house, near the central library, next to orphanage. As she was stout, she hated covering the distance by walk. Whenever she saw any familiar face lingering by maidaan she asked him to drop her to school. She wished she too had a bicycle like her friends, Tina and Alisha. Once, she asked for a bicycle on her birthday, but the poor parents refused to gift her. Julee cried for two whole days and then her daily-routine went on.    

            ‘You can go but after dropping me to school.’

            ‘All right!’ I said and put her bag on the back of the bicycle. She jumped on the front stick of the bicycle and crossed her legs. I paddled and took a straight path towards her school.

            ‘Where is your motorcycle?’ she asked while looking at Kalu who was running behind the bowl over the maidaan. As Kalu came near a large peepal tree, he made a powerful dive on to the ground and caught the ball. Bowler and fielders cheered up. The wah-wah of Kalu spread across the field.

‘It is with father,’ I said. ‘He’s gone to office. Don’t you like my bicycle? I know how difficult it is to sit upon the stick, but the ride on bicycle has its own fun.’

No response. She gazed the boys playing in the maidaan till we passed by a large building and the little lads disappeared behind. She took her tie and swept her nose once again.

‘Kalu is your classmate, right?’

‘Yes! He is an awaraa chokra. He seldom comes to school.’ she coughed as we came by Ramesh’s stall who was busy frying hot chilies.

‘How could you say him a loafer?’

‘My mother says so. Kalu doesn’t need to go school. His father owns a shop, so he could sit on it.’ Julee said. ‘My father is a milkman and girls don’t sell milk. So I don’t have any choice rather than going school.’

She stopped to retrieve her breath, ‘Moreover, I can’t ride father’s bicycle because I am a bachhi. And I think father would never buy a small bicycle for me.’

Julee grumped under her breaths and felt sad. She took her tie and began rolling and unrolling it. Sinking in her cycle-world, she looked straight. She too wanted to go to school on bicycle like her classmates, Tina and Alisha.

‘Bicycle is not so good. In fact, it is worthless,’ I said. ‘In summer, it is difficult to ride under the blazing sun. And in winters, you can’t think how hard it is to paddle in mist. Walking is better than cycling. While cycling, you can’t ride it without your hands supporting the handles. But, while walking, you can shelter your head with your hands from sunrays in summers, and in winters you can rub it together to keep your body warm. I am going to sell this bicycle. I don’t like it anymore.’

The little girl was still heartbroken.

‘Arey Janaab! Where are you going?’ shouted the old tailor, Master Ali, standing at the brink of his small shop. He was the oldest being in the village and knew almost everyone. He called everyone Janaab, even to the women. A round cap on the head and an unruffled plain white beard resembled him molwi sahaab of the masjid. The son of Master Ali had left him behind in the village and moved to the city, and never returned to see him. Master Ali was suffering from night blindness. He would open the shop early morning and towards early evening it would be close. No one knew what he would do after the dusk would fall.  

I halted my bicycle at his shop. The old Ali held the Julee’s chin and asked ‘Janaab! What happened? Janaab, why are you so gloomy?’

Julee didn’t reply and gently fell her head down.

‘Janaab, don’t you want to go school? Janaab, if you don’t like going school, you could come to my shop. I would teach you tailoring without any cost,’ said Master Ali. ‘Good children become better and then migrate to cities, leaving their parents behind, Janaab.

‘Master, it is not like what you are thinking. She loves going school. She is sad because she wants a new bicycle,’ I intervened.

‘Oh! Janaab in that case you must go to school and learn something to earn some money. Janaab, good children become better and could buy a bicycle too,’ Master Ali passed a smile. Julee played with her tie and kept quite. ‘Janaab, Don’t worry. I’ve something for you. Wait a moment, Janaab!’

Julee lifted her head for the first time. Skeptically, she waited. Master Ali called out for Shanu and asked him to bring Puchu. Shanu, the washerman’s son, was a ten years old boy and worked for Master Ali. 

The sweet, little boy came out from a small room with a parrot perching on his head. Suddenly, a smile came across Julle’s face. The smile was not for the parrot but for Shanu instead, for she remembered Shanu offering his bicycle to her every Sunday. As Shanu came by us, Puchu cried out gazing at Julee, ‘Janaab… Janaab… Why are you so happy?’

Everyone laughed and the stout girl was happy again.

‘Do you like parrots?’ asked the little Shanu draped in dirty clothes.

            ‘Yes, I like…’

            Before Julee continued, Master Ali said, ‘Janaab, you could play with Puchu whenever you come here. Puchu is very shararti. He is nalayak and would never leave me and fly away, Janaab.’

            ‘All right Master!’ said Julee with a smile stuck to her lips.

            ‘Master Ali! Now, we shall leave. Otherwise, she will get late for her school.’ I said.

            ‘Okay Janaab!’ said Ali. ‘But don’t forget to visit Puchu again.’ Master Ali kissed the Puchu like a grandfather loving his grandson.

            Shanu and Julee passed a soft smile to each other. I paddled and didn’t stop until we reached her school. Julee was happy, and all through our way from Master Ali’s shop to school, she played with her fingers and tie, and sang the Christmas song.

            ‘Now go to your classroom and study well,’ said I.

She jumped off the bicycle and shouldered her bag. ‘All right. But you don’t sell your bicycle,’ she beamed. ‘Till I grow as tall as you and buy it from you.’

            Julee turned around and merrily ran towards the ground where students were assembled to sing out their morning prayers.

            I gazed her till she disappeared in the swarm of students. I paddled once again and moved in the direction of library.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nakul.grover1
Email: grovernakul142@gmail.com